S-t-r-e-t-c-h Pants

I was putting away some stuff with my behind on my fashionista daughter’s face, effectively blocking the television screen from her view, when she asked, “Do you wear those pants when you go out?”

I was in mustard-colored stretch pants and a Tintin t-shirt that was one size smaller, and I answered, sounding offended, “Of course not! If I ever did, I wore a long loose top over this pair of pants. Why?”

“Well,” said Miss Size Small to Medium, “don’t ever wear them outside the house again. Because, Nanay, you have a fat ass.” Boy, could I hear the font style on that phrase going from normal to bold and italics.

Which reminds me again of Padma’s self-deprecating reference to herself as not being a poet but a puwet.